05-20-2020, 11:24 PM
[table][tr][td]![[Image: b94dbd8a-65a5-11ea-af51-45358cb49cc4.gif]](https://piskel-imgstore-b.appspot.com/img/b94dbd8a-65a5-11ea-af51-45358cb49cc4.gif)
[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.
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[/td][td][div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.
— Бра́тья Карама́зовы
It was not honor for his family that drove Ivan, it wasn't to make himself feel better, or even to protect what semblance of dignity Atticus might have back home after deserting. He didn't care about the politics of it all. No, it was something raw and just utterly evil without justification. The young cat did not know what came over him as he raised his hackles and bared his teeth at his pleading brother.
What? Was he asking for mercy? Why should he give any mercy? It didn't exist. This entire world was absurd and Ivan hated it. He never hated it more than right now at this moment. In spite of that, he kept on living, his consent form for suffering. It's a wonderful thing, to live, in the simplest sense of it. To think is dangerous.
"We all walk by that house!" Ivan cried out. "We didn't leave. You're tricking yourself into thinking that it's the only way to get over the grief and guilt, but you're only placating it and giving into its demands."
He had his own nights, with dreams so vivid he woke himself up with his throat feeling sore as if he had been actually screaming in the waking world as he had done in his dreaming replaying of the tragic day. And he paced the wreckage, using the great facilities of his rather gifted imagination to build it all up again, to see his mother in the rose crown that he gave to her on Mother's Day. To see Winston, and Atticus ...
He was looking at a reflection of himself that he didn't want to see. Helplessness and an almost sort of submission due to the heavy weight of guilt. It bowed Atticus down, something Ivan thought could never happen to his extroverted sibling. But I'm stronger than that. My theory ...
It was as if in that moment Ivan forgot he was looking at a brother. Something was dying, but it had been dying for a long time, since the incident with the monster of many eyes.
"Do you know, Atticus, how one loses his mind?" Ivan said very slowly and quietly now. He flashed out a paw, aiming to strike Atticus in the face. Teeth gnashing, he had the appearance of fighting back some unseen demon, and leapt for his brother, aiming to tackle him to the ground where his claws unsheathed and attempted to turn them against his own flesh and blood.
/ open now!
What? Was he asking for mercy? Why should he give any mercy? It didn't exist. This entire world was absurd and Ivan hated it. He never hated it more than right now at this moment. In spite of that, he kept on living, his consent form for suffering. It's a wonderful thing, to live, in the simplest sense of it. To think is dangerous.
"We all walk by that house!" Ivan cried out. "We didn't leave. You're tricking yourself into thinking that it's the only way to get over the grief and guilt, but you're only placating it and giving into its demands."
He had his own nights, with dreams so vivid he woke himself up with his throat feeling sore as if he had been actually screaming in the waking world as he had done in his dreaming replaying of the tragic day. And he paced the wreckage, using the great facilities of his rather gifted imagination to build it all up again, to see his mother in the rose crown that he gave to her on Mother's Day. To see Winston, and Atticus ...
He was looking at a reflection of himself that he didn't want to see. Helplessness and an almost sort of submission due to the heavy weight of guilt. It bowed Atticus down, something Ivan thought could never happen to his extroverted sibling. But I'm stronger than that. My theory ...
It was as if in that moment Ivan forgot he was looking at a brother. Something was dying, but it had been dying for a long time, since the incident with the monster of many eyes.
"Do you know, Atticus, how one loses his mind?" Ivan said very slowly and quietly now. He flashed out a paw, aiming to strike Atticus in the face. Teeth gnashing, he had the appearance of fighting back some unseen demon, and leapt for his brother, aiming to tackle him to the ground where his claws unsheathed and attempted to turn them against his own flesh and blood.
/ open now!